you are horrible at laughing, love
by TaoGrace
Summary: Manon likes not feeling anything, Abraxos likes flowers and Dorian likes puppies. Do the maths. Now a drabble collection for the witch and the king. And the bothersome wyvern.
1. Chapter 1

The sound of wings in the dark night doesn't scare Dorian as much as it should. Wings don't just start flapping at random hours in the night outside the window of Adarlan's king. King. He's not king, not yet.

 _And what's the worst it could happen?_ he finds himself wondering as he steps out on his balcony in the stone castle.

"Hello, witchling."

It doesn't even surprise him that she's casually dangling her legs from the ledge.

"Hello, princeling."

"Not for long," he sighs.

She raises a white eyebrow.

…

Manon has no idea why she's here.

An old, buried part of her tries to reason, to find some form of rational explanation as to why she hauled ass and flew Abraxos for miles and miles, wandering around. And then ended up here.

But sense has left her quite some time ago, it would seem.

Morath was stifling. It was rutting impossible to keep a clear head in that hellhole. Demons and humans and witches should never be thrown together in such intimately close quarters. Not if anyone wanted to emerge with all limbs intact.

And at some point, it was just too much. The goddamned worms were a few steps short of crawling into her very throat, and she was _this_ close to snapping.

So she took the liberty of leaving for the night. If any of those swarming shit-faces had the slightest issue, they could kiss her arse.

At first, she had flown around the mountains, thrilling in the cold wind and soothing darkness, Abraxos humming in delight beneath her. Then, she felt this _thing_ – Manon still couldn't quite grasp the concept of _feeling, ugh_ – and it made her choke and Darkness take it all if she could stand another mountain top.

Another barren prison.

So she flew.

It wasn't yet midnight when she glimpsed the glass wall.

…

Dorian didn't feel like the king he ought to have been.

He didn't have the faintest as to how to be a king. Damn that. He didn't have the faintest as to how to be normal human being anymore. So he did the only thing he knew.

He read.

He burrowed himself so thoroughly in books, that he barely felt the days passing. He dug up books about magic from the library in the catacombs, books about Adarlan, about Gavin and Elena, about myths and legends and stories long-forgotten, about whatever it was that Aelin Galathynius had set free in the world, thanking whatever deities had been bothered to save that library.

Dorian's magic didn't help either. It was only a matter of time before he's have to confront his court, and the lords and ladies he'd had to summon from across the kingdom, about it. There was no way to be king without that particular piece of truth to come to light.

And gods damn him, he dreaded that moment.

So he let himself get lost in time. And now, the witch – _Manon_ – was at his windowsill, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And why wouldn't it be?

…

"Not for long," he sighed wearily.

"Hard to make your own decisions?"

Snappish. The human looked up at her, sapphire eyes rimmed with red. "That was undeserved."

"Was it?" Manon asks, not entirely sure why she bothers. Bothers trying to make conversation, that is. Conversation isn't her strong point, and she's had absolutely no use for pleasantries her entire life.

"Yes, it was. Very much so, witchling."

He looks tired enough that a single breeze would make him shatter in pieces, like his castle.

"I am no witchling."

A corner of his full mouth almost, _almost_ curls up. Manon frowns. A small, infinitely small flicker of amusement in the shadows in his eyes.

"Of course not. You're a full-blooded witch."

The sentence has a trace of sarcasm. She's not sure she likes it. "I am."

"A Blackbeak?"

A pause.

"Why do you care?"

"Because it's one of the few things I remember. Your name," he says, and it's been long since a human has been honest with her. Manon doesn't think a human has ever felt at ease in her presence. They had no right to, not to her. But still.

"My name," _say it_ , a voice in her head whispers before she can stop it. Something inside her twitches.

He holds her gaze, and for the first time in her life, she feels thoroughly _bare_ , and he whispers, soft as the Spidersilk on Abraxos's wings, soft like the sigh of a dying man, soft like the sound of wind soaring through clouds,

" _Manon Blackbeak_."

She exhales quietly, schooling her features to stone. "Hmph."

…

Dorian feels himself smile, if only a shadow of his once brilliant grin, as he says the witch's name; as if it weren't a reminder of the hell his life had been for so long.

She's as impassive as he remembers, her face an utterly impassive mask, a mask of demure and absolute beauty, a mask fitting of a queen of demons, he finds himself thinking as he leans his forearms on the stone railing.

The silence that follows soothes him, and he can hear the sounds of the sleeping city before him and the ripples of the Avery in the distance.

He can't figure why, _why_ and _how_ , but he is at peace.

Then a roar rattles his balcony.

Dorian almost jumps out of his skin, " _What the rutting-?!"_ and then another sound stops him stupid.

She _snorted_.

Manon Blackbeak, the White Demon the Wastes tremble in fear of, cold-blooded murderer with statuesque features sketched in terror and blood in genealogies of the Ironteeth witches, _snorted_ at him.

And she looks like she's almost, _almost_ going to start chuckling.

"What was that?!"

…

It's beyond her.

Maybe she's tired maybe she is out of her mind, maybe something in her head has been definitely torn apart, but Manon has never seen anything more _hilarious_ than the sheer _outrage_ and the _surprise_ on the human's face as Abraxos roared in delight at the flower garlands hanging from the balcony.

And the high pitched yelp that came out of his mouth a moment later.

So she lost it.

…

It hits Dorian that she has no idea how to laugh properly.

Although, it couldn't be considered a laugh by normal human standards - _what were those, anyway?! –_ it can't really be anything else; not with the way she huffs and it's simply just air coming through her nose at rhythmic intervals, the upper part of her face remaining utterly unmoving, and her mouth closed, corners barely lifted, but she's _laughing_ , and _why the rutting hell is he analyzing her face._

And the unmanly, screeching, green-boy sound that came from him makes him want to crawl into a whole.

Dorian feels his cheeks redden in embarrassment and she laughs further and it hits him – it hits him that, for one moment, he'd forgotten.

He'd forgotten about the darkness.

And, as he expects the familiar weight to come crashing on him, he finds it diminished. As he looks up in the witch's golden eyes, he feels a bit lighter. As if a tiny part of his burden has been lifted.

"You laugh horribly, witchling."

She freezes, white strands of hair falling into her face.

"I wasn't laughing."

Her jaw went slack, or well, a little bit slack, and that was probably the most shocked she's ever been her entire life. Dorian gives her a shameless grin.

"Yes, you were. Awfully so," he goes on.

"No."

He almost rolls his eyes.

"Yes."

"I wasn't laughing, you worm."

And there's this golden disbelief that makes him push on, makes a spark, a flicker of magic ignite somewhere inside him, and that itty–bitty spark starts eating at the shadows, small, minuscule bites, but bites nonetheless.

"Yes, you were, and you know it."

Before she can open her mouth, another roar follows.

…

This time, she leans down and kicks Abraxos in the shin.

"Be quiet, you rutting worm!"

Manon doesn't understand this feeling, either. It's not panic, it's not fear, it's them and then something else, something more, something making her throat choke and face heat. Manon Blackbeak's face _does not_ heat. Abraxos raises his head from the hanging bush of flowers and looks at her disapprovingly, as if she'd interrupted something of vital importance. His dark eyes narrow at her.

"Don't give me that look."

She swears that, if he'd have had eyebrows, Abraxos would have raised one at her.

Then, he promptly sniffed again

"What do you think you're doing now, get you thrice-damned snout out of those –"

"As charming as that is, _who_ are you talking to?"

She'd forgotten about the human. Shit. That never happened to her. _What was_ wrong _with her?!_

There is barely hidden amusement in his blue eyes. No, it's not barely hidden, he's not trying to hide it at all and his eyes are rutting _dancing_ and that exasperated her more than the slimy, little, -

 _Roarrgh._

"Oh, hello there."

Darkness take her.

Another growl, as if in greeting, as Abraxos climbed up the railing with his wings pressed into his back, holding himself to her stone on his legs, eyes roaming with interest from her to the human, then leaning towards him and _sniffing_.

That fucking traitor.

"I was actually wondering where your wyvern went," the prince says, and now he's moving his hand towards Abraxos and, as if only now noticing her glare, "May I?"

Manon frowns. Does he want to lose a blasted hand? "May you what." A short, clipped order.

"Touch him," he answers, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

 _No, you git. You may not, you may not lay one fucking finger on my_ -

And, without waiting for her approval - _her denial, actually,_ the bastard caresses Abraxos's head.

Manon awaits with raw, brutal satisfaction the quick, deadly snap of jaws, the sight of red, human, warm blood, _oh, she can almost smell it_ , the blood, the spray, the scream of agony –

Abraxos pushes his snout more firmly in the human's hand.

What.

And the human starts scratching his hide and Abraxos, she _swears, the rutting worm sighs and moans in pleasure_.

"Oh, he's adorable," he coos, now holding Abraxos's head with both hands, the beast answering with a deep purr.

Manon blinks.

Then blinks again.

What.

"He's not adorable," she manages somehow to croak out, "he is a warrior. A beast. He is a weapon meant to slaughter thousands," she hears the words as if they weren't her own.

The human clicks his tongue and smiles at Abraxos, completely absorbed by his playing with the wyvern, "Naah. He's a big puppy," _No, he is not_ a fucking _puppy, he is – "_ What's your name, you big ball of puppy-ness? "

 _Roaaaaaaargh._

Manon is fairly sure the only coherent thought in her head while she watches this particular scene unfold is ' _No_ '. Yes, that's about it. Except that, nothing. Blissful, empty nothingness.

He finally deigns to look at her, and his eyes are warm and soft and he smiles when he asks "What's his name?"

Like it were absolutely fucking normal for a wyvern to act like a dog.

Manon blinks again.

"His name is Abraxos."

"From that legend with the serpent that -?"

"Yes, from the legend with the serpent," she says, absolute, unadultred disgust _dripping_ from her voice like ounces and ounces of venom. Then, Manon grabs the treacherous worm by a cord from the saddle, throws one leather-clad leg over the wyvern and, in a flurry of red and white,

"My wyvern and I need to leave. Now."

And that is the last she says before flying away into the night, Abraxos whining in disappointment.

…

She barely leaves before Dorian feels the overwhelming rush starting in his belly, then going up, and up and _up_ , and it was a quiet giggle, then a chuckle and then full-blown, guttural laughter, the likes of which he hasn't laughed in a long, long time.

 _She should have seen her face. Her face. Gods, her face had been worth a kingdom and then some._

As his laughter slowly stopped, Dorian laid himself in bed and picked up whatever ancient manuscript of doom he'd been reading.

And when he fell asleep, for once, he darkness didn't engulf him.

…

"You aren't getting any meat until next week."

Rooooooaaaaaaarghhh.

"None of that."

* * *

 **Well. This happened. There is almost no Manon x Dorian fanfiction, and that is unacceptable, because they are** _ **perfect**_ **. And if you're trying to tell me Dorian's puppy talents wouldn't apply to Abraxos, you've got another thing coming. Cheers :D**


	2. Chapter 2

Manon was used to the feeling of wanting. That hunger was familiar and understandable, and didn't require thought or restraint.

But this….this perplexed her. This odd feeling made her wonder and she didn't necessarily desire an answer. Or perhaps the gentle way his hands held her face were answer enough.

Soft fingers, crackling with magic and young, new-born energy, caressed her jaw and cheeks and neck and something in her chest twitched and strained at that gentleness.

It was slow and languid, and so very careful, his kiss. Firm, but soft and it made Manon wonder and there was this tightenting in her throat, why -

And she responds, for some reason. Her answer is just as languid and slow and soft as his, for all it was unusual. She has kissed men -men and Fae and Darkness knows what else- and they've all been so very obvious and primal in their want, so easy to read and dismiss and simply discard, but this, this -

She can't explain this, for some reason.

\- _and there's the tugging in her chest again, it feels like drowning, but in a pleasurable way, and it's as if those deft fingers of his tug with each caress at some strange threads, threads knotted irreparably in her chest, but no, he doesn't know that and so he tries to tug them free, not thinking they could snap oh so easily._

Her eyes are closed and this - this is enjoyable for once, and Darkness take her, she is getting lost in the tug of his mouth and the whispers of his hands and she grasps at the fabric of his shirt, pulls herself closer out of some basic need for warmth and -

Cold. It's so cold, the winter air.

He looks at her as if she's grown a second head and there's this feral gleam in his eyes, maybe it's fear, too.

( _—and, oh, those threads are stretched more than they should be, she needs to take them back, tangle them up with the rest and never let them go -)_

"I - I'm sorry. Forgive me. I didn't-didn't mean to," he says in one breath and looks like a wild animal cornered by his butchers, wild and feral and -

He leaves, scurrying away in the shadows.

 _(And these threads - they break)_

 **A/N: hullo :) yes, I am making this fic a drabble collection. I am descending into this lovely pit of Manon/Dorian-ness, and hopefully, I'll be delivering some more goodness. Many thanks for your lovely reviews, they made my days a whole load better. (I obviously don't own anything. In SJM we trust xD)**

 **happy holidays! :D**


	3. Chapter 3

"Why are you here?" he asked, exhaustion dripping from his voice like venom. 

A raised eyebrow, white and perfect in its arch, as she slipped from her wyvern's back to the railing of his balcony in a fluid motion, graceful as Death before its servants.

"Abraxos brought me. He was...insisting that I come here, for some reason."

In the middle of the night, nonetheless. Manon had been woken in her tower chamber by the growls and screeches of her wyvern at her balcony. The rutting thing wouldn't stop no matter how many insults she hurled his way, or how much she cursed him. A while longer, and he would have carried her off her own bed, had she not come of her own volition. 

A half-hearted grumble was the only answer the worm deemed to give her scowl, who was now enchanted beyond all sense by garlands of flowers hanging from the crennels and balconies nearby. Good. Traitor.

A mirthless chuckle.

"He probably heard me saying your name," he whispers, his words carried by the wind.

That was the last thing Manon expected him to say, and he earned as much of a reaction as she was willing to give; a surprised blink.

And the way he said it, simple and awful, as if he's had to choke each letter, as if his mouth clamped down against his will on the words.

He probably knew enough of that particular feeling, Manon decided, so she set her face in stone and asked.

"Why would you say my name."

There was no harshness in her words. No evident curiosity, either. They were just words, neither dispassionate, nor pitying. He looked up at that, he looked straight into her eyes,

(- _as all the demons had feared to, there was nothing of the demon left in him or in his eyes, nothing but shadows and blue, and some other light, which she presumed with a shudder was magic in its very home-)_

\- and his gaze stayed there, as though he might have read her thoughts in her eyes. As though he might know how she had to force her features to be unmoving in face of his scrutinity.

Manon resisted the urge to shake herself as she followed that train of thought. No. She had nothing to fear in that aspect. Not from him.

Not yet.

 _(-The presence of her own magic, the return of her immortal senses made her only more aware of the sheer energy emanating from him. It dripped from his eyelashes and fell from his fingers and was etches in his words. It was almost too much to bear. Almost._

 _Still, some of her Thirteen chose to stray away from his presence. Too close, and they might choke on his magic, what with its stench and presence-)_

Not privy to her thoughts, the human - Dorian - inhaled loudly, as if clearing his mind, searching for words.

Not looking away, Manon waited.

"It's... complicated," he began softly, as if he were expecting her to interrupt or stop him. When he saw that she was looking at him expectantly, he continued, "Back... back when I was under the ... back when I was controlled by that thing. The prince, or..."

As if he could ever forget, the shadows in his eyes seemed to say. Then, something in his voice changed, as if he'd caught himself, before his mind would go in deeper, darker pits. He set his brows in a resolute frown and continued.

"...whatever it was," he said, closing his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

When he rose, there was a new sort of light in his tired eyes. So very tired.

"Back then, I did not remember my own name. I didn't remember anything at all and there was nothing but this...this darkness, as I tried to hide from it. I couldn't remember most of what I was doing, only what it chose to show me. And even then... no. I couldn't remember even her n-," a sudden halt, as he shuddered with his whole body. He gulped and, "I didn't remember any name. Any name but yours," he said and raised his head.

The clear look in his eyes nearly choked her. The quiet desperation with which he spoke, his trembling voice and shaking hands, all of that was overshadowed by the look in his eyes. The determination, certainty, power and terror and grief and unadulterated sadness and so many other things Manon did not know the name of.

She had been right, the thought came to her unexpectedly. He would have been beautiful, if not for the collar around his neck, she remembered thinking all of a lifetime ago.

And he was.

It was the same kind of beauty that struck her breathless, the abstract feeling, which hit her when she heard the wind whispering across Spidersilk wings, whispering her name again and again.

The same thing lay in the human's eyes.

( _-His eyes shone with the tears he'd shed, sapphire rimmed with red and white and purple, but the witch didn't see that. Not yet_ -)

"Why?"

There was no weakness, no tremble to her voice, although a part of her gut quivered.

He exhaled. "I don't know. Not truly. It...it was afraid of you, I think. Afraid of your eyes. That time you spoke to me, it was the first I was in control since...since they put that thing in me.

"After that," he frowned, then looked up again, his voice cracking at the edge of his words, "it was the one thing I could hold onto, in the dark.  
Manon. Manon Blackbeak. I said it over and over again, even if there were times the thing took even that from me. But never for long."

And the shadows in his eyes were back. Somehow, Manon doubted that he'd ever told this to anyone. Somehow, this human found it fitting to confide in her. Somehow, he deemed her worthy of his trust, worthy of such words.

She looked at him then, tried looking at him to understand more than just his thoughts, as they were open and served to her on a silver platter in a bout of a brutal sort of honesty.

No, this knowledge didn't serve her as it should. Knowing a human's thoughts usually meant understanding it and them, whatever they were.

Knowing the prince's thoughts brought her no closer to understanding him.

"What is it?" his voice came and startled her, forcing her to snap back to reality.

She met his eyes, realising she had been staring at him, lost in thought.

"Nothing."

(- _Darkness take her, her voice had trembled, if only a bi_ t-)

Another one of his chuckles. Rasped from his throat, as if he hadn't drunk water in days.

"Please, do tell me how badly I freaked you out."

A perfect silver eyebrow raised at this.

A small smile played on his lips, barely there and even less of it in his eyes.

"It's not every day some man lays his heart and mind at your feet, is it, witchling?" he teased, a hint of humour in his eyes.

A mild scowl at the title, more to distract her from the...endearment in his voice, than real and actual annoyance.

"Don't call me that."

A corner of his mouth curled up, knowingly, as if waiting for something.

"And no. Most days end up in human hearts of my own ... _taking_ lying at my feet," Manon found herself saying, not without the barest trace of feeling herself, a small smirk playing on her own lips.

A huff of laughter. Genuine amusement, as far as she could tell. Sapphire eyes broke into hers.

"They should call you heart-breaker, witch."

And the word didn't come with fear or grudging respect (or hate, or disgust). It came with some strange, other thing. A thing Manon had most definitely heard before, if once or twice, but did not recall where. Where she'd heard it. And, no, this thing hadn't made her something in her chest flutter. She didn't know she was capable of ...fluttering.

(- _never mind the way he said it, why was his voice hoarse, or breathless, or throaty-_ )

"Hmph."

( _-Days, maybe weeks later, she would know, she would remember, the tone colouring the human's word was as much his as it was her Second's, when she spoke of times past. And of love. But the witch did not yet know. Not yet-)_

 **A/N: sooo, yet another chapter. I'll try ordering them chronologically, although that might take some more time. oh, and more drabbles, so that this 'verse might make sense. nevertheless, happy new year to y'all, and i dearly hope you enjoy this :D**

 **cheers :3**


	4. Chapter 4

It's in the silent touch of his fingers up her leg. Up, up, up they go, barely there, barely a whisper, are they really there, yes they are. Deft and silent, she feels his fingers up her thigh, raising goose bumps in their wake and she purrs in response.

She hears him smile, hears that quiet exhale and warm air hits the back of her neck. For once, he bears no sign of ice and cold and magic frozen in the air.

Oh, the magic is there, alright. It's like a static, some sort of energy, intangible, hidden underneath the broad expanse of pale skin, but it makes her heightened senses tingle in recognition. It's as much of a rouse as his feather-soft caress going slowly up her thigh, over a scarred hipbone, then on the sensitive skin of her navel.

Manon lets herself enjoy it. Why shouldn't she let herself be lavished, for once? Lavished and revered, yes she deserves that, at least. So she doesn't do much else than sigh and settle herself more firmly to his naked chest beneath the silken sheets and furs. Ugh, humans. Couldn't last one night without three layers of dead skin on them.

Her eyes are closed, but it's plain to see that she's awake, what with the way she rolls her hips against his (cold, always cold, he is - but she likes it all the more), and his right hand closes around a breast, as if in answer.

She makes a content sound in the back of her throat. Encouragement - and he takes it was such, puts his mouth near her ear and moans.

His hand gives her another gentle squeeze, then proceeds with the same languid caresses, barely even there and slowly, ever-so-slowly becoming a refined sort of torture.

* * *

 **A/N: a lil drabble io wrote some time ago in this verse. fogured i'd post this here as well, because naked cuddles fluff is what i need rn**

 **:)**


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